The Book of Short Tales by Lyra

B2MeM '12 - B4 - Critique of Pure Reason

Written for three B4 prompts:
- "In a Manner of Speaking", Forever hold your Peace;
- "Silmarillion Fanon", Maglor the Mighty Wimp;
- "Sons of Fëanor", Maedhros alone stood aside.

As the swan-ships burn, the eldest sons of Fëanor have an argument.
Apologies to Immanuel Kant for shamelessly and inappropriately stealing his title.

"Nelyo, be reasonable!"

Maitimo turned away from the light of the burning ships. The heat that carried across the water was great enough to make his skin feel dry, almost sore. Whenever the spray from the angry waves got carried across the rocks and onto his face or hands, it stung. Against the raging inferno, his face was unreadable in the dark until he raised his torch, still held in his hand when all others had already cast theirs. His posture betrayed anger and frustration; so did his voice.
"I am being reasonable. I am possibly the only reasonable person on this shore."
Macalaurë gave him a reproachful look. Maitimo shook his head. "Please, brother. Do not tell me you think there is any sense in burning these ships."

Macalaurë snorted. "Maybe not - but there would have been little sense in sending them back, either. I can count the people who would've been of use on one hand. Findekáno, Turukáno, Irissë, Findaráto, Artanis. That's it."
Now it was Maitimo's turn to look reproachful. "There were more than five who saved us in Alqualondë. Yes, you heard me right: they saved us! The Teleri had us cornered like fish in a weir. Hadn't Nolofinwë's host arrived, the stain of the kinslaying would've been on Olwë's people – and we would be in Mandos already. Nolofinwë may not love Father, but he followed faithfully and did us a great service. Is this how we repay him?"
"Well, you can't change it," Macalaurë pointed out. "And Father is fuming. Be reasonable. You can't help our uncle, but if you keep standing here, you won't help your own situation either. There's no accounting for what Father will do later on. He has already named you a traitor and a coward!"
An expression of pain crossed Maitimo's handsome face, but he jutted his chin resolutely. "Then let him call me traitor – coward I am not. I will have no part in this madness. That is my decision, and I will not be moved from it. We came here to be free of the tyranny of the Valar – I shall not bow to any other tyrant, though he be my father."

Anger blazed up in Macalaurë's eyes. "Careful, Brother. I love you dearly, but if you name Father a tyrant, you truly are a traitor - a pet of the Valar, no better than Arafinwë!"
Maitimo, with some difficulty, maintained his composure. "I do not wish to hurt your feelings. Or Father's. I shall not speak my mind on this matter again, though it may mean holding my tongue forever." He took a deep breath. "But I will not act against my conscience. Please accept that, Cáno."
Macalaurë's jaw worked as though he had to forcibly repress a scathing reply. Finally he nodded and said, "Fine. Give me your torch, then. If you will not do it, I shall throw it in your place. The people must not see our family disunited."